


Finally, This

by thinkinghardhardlythinking



Category: Supernatural
Genre: F/M, Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-07
Updated: 2020-10-07
Packaged: 2021-03-08 01:46:12
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,909
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26877643
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thinkinghardhardlythinking/pseuds/thinkinghardhardlythinking
Summary: Fluffy friends to lovers tale, involving Sam Winchester confessing his feelings for the reader over margarita's in the bunker kitchen.
Relationships: Sam Winchester & You, Sam Winchester/Reader, Sam Winchester/You
Comments: 2
Kudos: 34





	Finally, This

You and Sam were sat in the bunker kitchen. Dean was out, carousing and getting up to no good. A new bar had opened in town and there were cheap drinks promised all night. “Don’t wait up, kids!” he’d shouted on his way out and Sam had rolled his eyes.

He’d been making dinner for you both when he’d asked, “Hey, so did you listen to that True Crime podcast I sent you yet?”

“Mmm Hmm.” You’d nodded. You hadn’t been that into true crime stuff but you loved how excited Sam had gotten when you’d showed some interest in it. Even though, you’d only really been interested because it made you happy to see him so enthusiastic about sharing his encyclopaedic knowledge about serial killers with you.

“You did?” He’d asked, eyes wide and face full of eager expectation. Most people might not have thought talking about grisly murders was great dinnertime conversation but Sam was in seventh heaven. So you’d talked about it all the while; while he finished cooking, throughout all of eating, while you washed and he dried the dishes and now, a few beers in.

“No, no – that’s exactly what I’m saying,” He said, animatedly. “It’s interesting that they focused on Bundy in that one because the way they set it up, you’d think they were gonna talk about Dahmer.”

Here he was, you thought, excited like a puppy dog and just as cute, cuter perhaps, talking about troubled killers and the awful things they had done. This guy was a riddle, wrapped in a conundrum, wrapped in a 6’5 gorgeous dream boat, wrapped in plaid. You reminded yourself to reign your crush in. He sees you as a friend, you repeated internally to yourself, and that was good. His friendship wasn’t a consolation prize. You just felt lucky to have him in your life. If only you could stop wanting to kiss his neck…his lips…imagining feeling his hands on you…

“….and when they were talking about John Wayne Gacy….I mean…hey, did I ever tell you about the time we ganked John Wayne Gacy’s ghost…well, ‘times’ actually?”

“Yeah. You did.” You said, smiling. “But you can tell me again?” Honestly, he looked so happy to be talking to you like this. You knew Dean only teased him about his true crime obsession and also that he liked talking to you. He’d told you before, you remembered because you’d been full of pride when he did.

“Oh yeah, I remember now. I told you before, when Dean made us go to that bar in Wichita and then ditched us to join that bachelorette party.”

You nodded. “He ended up wearing that pink sash that said ‘Maid of Honor’ on it.” You said, shaking your head and laughing at the memory of cool, handsome, manly Dean, slightly worse for wear, dancing with a gaggle of loud women as the drunken bride to be draped the sash over him. He was so wasted he’d hugged her and worn it proudly for the rest of the night until he disappeared with one of the bridesmaids. You and Sam hadn’t even wanted to go out but you’d ended up talking for hours. They’d had to kick you out. You’d had a lot of drinks by then and you had staggered back to the motel room, despite most of the night being hazy, you remembered that part vividly because you’d had your arms around each other. It had been drunken affection and trying to keep each other steady but also…you’d sort of loved it.

You finished your beer and looked at Sam’s nearly empty bottle.

“Another?” You asked, “Or…..”

He looked at you, eyebrows raised in curious anticipation. “Or….?”

“I think we could make margarita’s?”

“Well, aren’t you a bad influence….” He said, laughing and shaking his head.

“Oh, I mean…it was just an idea….we don’t have to…we could leave it for tonight-“

“Y/N! I was just messing around. Margarita’s are the best idea I’ve ever heard. You’re a genius!”

You got up and walked towards the kitchen island.

“Need a hand?”

“Nah…I’m good. Just keep talking while I slice up these limes.” You said, pulling out a chopping board from the cupboard and getting a knife.

“I can do that.” He said, turning in his seat to face you and leaning against the wall. “Man, that was a funny night…..”

“I know, right? Did he….was he wearing a tiara at one point?” You couldn’t fully remember but you had hazy image in your mind of the bride to be putting one of those on Dean too.

“Erm….yes!” Sam said, looking at you with disbelief, “Y/N? Do you not remember that evening?”

“I thought I did…but clearly…I had more to drink than I thought….I remember you telling me the ghost of John Wayne Gacy story, and Dean and the bachelorettes….I remember we had shots….” You remembered that clearly because shots was normally a you and Dean thing, not a you and Sam thing.

“That’s all you remember?” He asked.

“Um……” You cast your mind back while you looked for the margarita mix. “Bits and pieces?”

“We were talking about the Gacy ghost because we’d been talking about true crime stuff and also clowns…” He looked uncomfortable just saying the word.

“Oh….yeah….I remember that…sort of….” A fragment of the night started to stitch itself back together in your mind’s eye. Dean had still been there for that part, lovingly but mercilessly teasing his younger brother.

“Sammy here, he just loves creepy serial killers…it’s like a weird….fetish.” Dean had said as Sam had looked at him with annoyed exasperation.

“It is not a fetish!” He’s said, with frustration.

You’d wanted to help Sam out, you could see his trademark ‘bitchface’, as you and Dean called it, rising. “It’s really popular these days.” You said to Dean, “He’s just intrigued by human psychology. He has that….you have ‘Busty Asian Beauties’…Potato. Potahto.”

“OK, firstly….no one says ‘potahto’.” Dean countered, “And secondly, it ain’t the same. One is psycho’s offing people and it’s weird. The other is….women. Beautiful women.” His face was registering his utter disbelief that you could even compare the two until it relaxed into the expression he made when he thought he was about to say something really funny. “Although….I mean, I think Sammy here is almost as scared of those as he is of clowns.” He’d creased up at his own joke, especially when Sam went to slap him round the back of the head, not full force, just the way those two did sometimes. It had been then that a girl had come up to Dean and said that the bachelorettes were having a contest to see who could get the hottest guy to come say ‘Hi’ to the bride to be.

“Well….if it’s a contest….” Dean had practically purred at her, “….you look like a winner to me…I’d be happy to provide you with an assist.”

She’d led him out of the booth and turned to Sam.

“I mean…I’d ask you too,” she slurred, “…but you’re clearly here with your girlfri-“ She’d been nodding in your direction before you cut her off.

“Oh, I’m not hi-“ You had been going to correct her but you were taken off guard by Sam grabbing your hand.

“That’s fine. Thank you. You guys have a great night.” He said, smiling politely at her. “Another drink, honey?” He’d said to you loudly, as Dean and the drunk girl wandered away.

“Sorry.” He’d said, letting go of your hand once they were safely at a distance.

“It’s fine.” You’d said, sad at the loss. “Although….you are kind of proving him right…about being scared of beautiful women. I guess that’s why you feel safer here with me…”

You winced internally at the way you’d said that. The off putting insecurity made you burn with self reproach.

“Oh God!” You said as you reached for the tequila. “It’s starting to come back to me. I’m so sorry…I remember…fishing for compliments….not a good look.”

He laughed. “You were fine.” He said, gallantly trying to save you from embarrassment. “I mean it was me who said things I shouldn’t have….”

You wracked your memory. After you’d said the thing about him feeling safe with you, you remembered him looking at you confused…but the next bit wasn’t coming to you…

“What? What did you say?” You asked, curiosity piqued.

“No…I….”He looked down at the floor before slowly looking up sheepishly, “…I just….you said something about beautiful women and how I was scared of them….which y’know…I’m not, by the way…”

You nodded to show that you knew that.

“…and I said…well, I was just confused that you said that because…you know….you’re…well, you are one…”

You smiled despite yourself.

“…and…you didn’t seem to believe that I thought that, I think you thought I was just saying it to be nice or something….so I just told you about how when we first met I had the biggest crush on you.”

You were glad that you had been facing the freezer getting ice when he said that because you were pretty sure shock was written all over your face. ‘What!?’ You thought.

“What!?” You, involuntarily, said, in a voice that you wished hadn’t been quite so loud.

“I told you that when we first met I had the hugest crush on you.” He repeated, misunderstanding your confusion.

And you were confused. Sam? Sam Winchester? Beautiful God amongst men, most perfect man you’d ever met, gorgeous, wonderful, could have any girl he wanted, Sam Winchester? Had a crush on you? You tried to get a hold of yourself because you had to turn around, the freezer was making you shiver.

“Um…Are you sure? I think I’d have remembered that?” You said, trying to force your face to look nonchalant as you mixed all the margarita components together in a big pitcher.

“Well….you probably would have if I hadn’t got so flustered and ended up knocking my drink all over you, ‘cause y’know…I’m smooth…” He smiled, with adorable self deprecation. “Don’t you remember? It was all over your top and your jeans…and I felt awful…”

It was sort of ringing some bells but not entirely. “I don’t….I remember wearing a dress that night…are you sure this is something that happened with me?”

He huffed at you and pulled a face that registered his offence that you thought he could confuse you with someone else. “No. You were wearing that blue top that’s like a shirt but a shirt that’s for women and it’s thin, you wear a vest under it I think, and it has the…stitching on the collar….” You couldn’t help feeling touched that he remembered your top, because you knew the one he meant, but also slightly amused at his clumsy male attempt to describe it. “…and the jeans that you’d just bought. That’s why I felt so bad about spilling beer on them.”

“I don’t know Sam…I mean…it doesn’t really matter but I’m pretty sure I was wearing a dress. I know the one I’m thinking of. I think you might be confused. I mean we were drinking…it’s no big deal.”

“What? No….I have a picture…from that night…just….hold on…” He said, fishing his phone out of his pocket. As he activated his home screen his phone gave a ‘low battery’ beep. He let out an annoyed exhale and looked around to see if his charger was still plugged in at the wall socket.

He had been sitting next to you but he got up, walked around the table to be near enough to the socket to plug his phone in to the charger cable and started going through his camera roll.

“It’s OK Sam, I believe you. It’s fine, honestly.” You said, as you walked back with the pitcher in one hand and two glasses stacked in the other. You were lying, you were still convinced that he was misremembering, but you really didn’t want to make a thing of it. You set the margarita stuff on the table and were about to sit down when he looked up at you confused.

“What?” You asked, following his gaze from you to the seat you had been sitting in.

“Why are you sitting so far away?” He’d asked, as if he was genuinely confounded.

“What? You moved!”

“Yeah but only ‘cause I had to plug this in.” And then he’d motioned you over. “Are you gonna come sit next to me or…?”

And it was a simple question but it felt suddenly weirdly complicated. You’d been sat next to each other before but now he was making a whole song and dance about it, it was making you feel a bit self conscious.

You shrugged and looked at him, slightly beer buzzed and smiling dopily as he scrolled through his photo’s, and you moved to squeeze in next to him, to look at the screen.

You could see some of the photo’s as they scrolled by. It looked like a lot of them were of you. Well, that made sense, you reasoned. You spent most of your time together, the three of you, there was really no deeper meaning to it. Reign your crush in, you reminded yourself.

“Yeah!” He shouted, victorious, as he waved his phone at you. “Told you!”

And there, on his screen was a photo of you both, clearly far from sober. You were hunched together and you were clearly taking the photo and smiling widely into the lens. There was a distinct dark patch on the blue top from the splash zone of Sam’s spilt drink, you imagined. You could see a tiny part of the table in the foreground and it was littered with upturned shot glasses. And there was Sam. Leaned in close next to you, arm casually draped across your shoulder, smiling wide and relaxed, dimples showing - handsome as ever.

“We look like we were having a great night.”

“Yeah…but also…blue shirt. I was right.” He said, scrolling across to see more pictures.

The next one showed a nearly identical set up but clearly one of you had said something funny because you were both laughing hysterically. The one after that, showed that you had regained some composure and you were both pulling comedy faces and pouting hard into the camera.

“Oh Jeez…” You said, “Not sure about my ‘Blue Steel’ there…”

He tutted at you. “I like that one. We’re having fun.”

The one after that, you actually didn’t mind how you looked. You looked happy and relaxed. That’ll be the booze, you thought. But Sam…he wasn’t looking into the camera in this one. He was looking at you and smiling…but it was a different smile than in the others. It looked unposed and natural but also a bit like he was in awe, soft and maybe….well, if you took yourself out of the equation…he looked like he was ‘in love’ or something. Heart eyes, you believed they called it. You stared at the photo. You sort of loved it. It was then you realised that it had been quiet for a while. He moved slightly and the photo jerked but didn’t fully move on to the next one…but in that momentary almost-scroll…you saw something.

“Wait…” You said as he went to pull it away. “Sam…”

He looked embarrassed and flustered, no doubt not helped by the fact that you’d been practically sat on him, leaning over him to look at his phone, still tethered to the wall by the charger cable.

“Sam, can I see the next photo?”

“What? Why? No. It’s nothing…..I mean, I think I’ve made my point…the top…” He said getting progressively slower and quieter. “….shirt thingy…it was blue…I was right…so…margarita’s?”

“Sam.” You said, resolutely, staring at the black screen of his phone.

He reluctantly turned the screen back on and looked mortified as you moved the photo along.

It was a picture of you, asleep. You could tell from the wallpaper in the background that it was from the motel you’d stayed at that same night. You were on your side, facing the camera, head on the pillow with your arm under it and your eyes were shut.

“I….I’m sorry…I know it must seem creepy…I was drunk and I just thought you looked so beautiful and peaceful…and I didn’t remember taking it until the next day and I thought I should delete it but….I didn’t want to…I just thought it was a great photo and you looked so nice and I didn’t keep it for any gross reasons…I promise…I…I’m so sorry….”

If anyone else had taken a photo of you asleep it would have made you deeply uncomfortable and you’d have felt angry, violated perhaps, but you didn’t. It was Sam. You trusted him. Your silence was more the result of you trying to understand if all this actually meant what it was starting to look like it might.

“Y/N? Please say something. I’m sorry, really. I didn’t mean to do anything bad or abuse your trust…really…but I realise now that it probably wasn’t OK….it’s not an excuse, I just thought you looked so….beautiful….”

“Yeah….you said.” You replied, slowly and quietly.

You were suddenly so aware of how close you were, of his leg next to yours. Waves of heat seemed to emanate through the denim, your skin so close but for a few layers of fabric. The feel of the muscles of his arm, firm and pushed up, next to yours.

“What did I say? After you told me about how you used to have a crush on me?” You asked, eyes still glued to the screen. The whole atmosphere seemed to have changed. It had gone from being easy and light to something else…something that carried more meaning….even if you weren’t fully sure exactly what that meaning was.

“Um…well, I think me upending my drink all over you distracted you and then we ordered shots because I needed another drink and you said if we had shots there’s be less to spill and I think you sort of forgot about me even mentioning it? I mean, I was embarrassed that I’d said it and then been a total klutz so I may have deliberately tried to change the conversation. I think we talked about Dean and the drunk women, you bet the next round that he was going to leave with the bride to be but I went ‘Maid of Honor’…then he left with just another girl so we both ended up buying a round…and we were in Wichita so I think you said something about the song ‘Wichita Lineman’….I think there may have been singing?…and then we spoke about music for a while…”

That all vaguely rang a bell.

“…and then about movies that had great soundtracks…and….it was all just y’know…drunk talk. And I mean…I think I implied that the crush was in the past…but, I mean clearly….I took that photo the same night and I still have it now so…..”

Your eyes moved from the screen to his face. It had stopped looking relaxed and tipsy and now looked more serious, like he was a little nervous and tentative. He was clearly trying to gage some sort of reaction; his eyes were desperately scanning your face. It occurred to you that you were now just….staring at each other. You looked at his hazel eyes, with their soft warmth. His cute nose and pink lips and slightly creased up brow.

“So…….Sam, are you saying…..do you like me?” You said, hating how much like a kid in a playground that made you sound, “Now?”

A big smile erupted across his face and he briefly bit his bottom lip. The trepidation in his eyes eased a little.

“Yes. I like you. A lot. I like you as a person and as a friend but I have other feelings too. So, yeah I like you. Have done for a while now. I….didn’t mean for you to find out like this…but yeah, I do.”

“How did you mean for me to find out?”

“I don’t know. I guess I figured at some point I’d ‘grow a pair’ as my brother so elegantly put it.”

“Dean knew?”

He nodded. Then looked down, taking a moment. “He knows.” Then he looked back at you and you felt the full force of his gaze. It was like he was relieved to be able to tell you and was letting himself really look at you without holding back or looking away, and it was intense, it was making you melt.

“I’m sorry about the picture.” He said, and he genuinely looked like he was full of regret.

“It’s OK. Really….” You said, “And for what it’s worth….I like you too. As a person, as a friend, and more than that. I like you.”

Neither of you had moved. You were still close, pushed together, faces only inches away. The heat flowing between where you were touching still seemed to ripple out in waves. You were still aware of his body, such a strong and sturdy thing, against yours. And now you were aware of the look of relief as it turned into joy across his handsome face. The pert pink lips of his smile stretching out wide, causing his dimples to flex, and then relaxing slightly while he continued to stare at you. Heart eyes; like in the picture.

“You do?” He asked, putting a tentative arm around you as he ran his other hand up your arm, settling it in the curve of your neck, his thumb slowly stroking your cheekbone.

“What’s happening?” You said, half rhetorically, half because you were worried you might be dreaming. His face was suddenly so boyish and hesitant, hazel eyes under serious brows. His hand still placed, tenderly, on your skin.

“I don’t know…” He said and moved slowly forward, he nearly stopped once but he didn’t, it was like a tiny nervous stutter in the way he leaned but he carried on eagerly “….but I think maybe this…”

And then he kissed you. Gently, almost chaste at first but then his lips moved and it was a real kiss. Sweet and tender, with his soft lips moving across yours, and then you felt his tongue as it lightly grazed them and then, just like that, his arms were pulling you closer still and his hands moved over you and his tongue found yours. You kissed for a while and it felt like magic. Like all the times you’d thought about it, dreamed about it, secretly wished for it had suddenly come alive and it was better. Better than you could even have imagined.

He pulled away, smiling as he looked at you. “Yeah…I think finally….this.” He said, before leaning in to kiss you again.


End file.
